The air in Luke’s forge was thick with the smell of hot metal and dust. Maxs stood across from Luke, who was rummaging through a cluttered drawer. The old ironsmith pulled out a small, smooth sphere—a strange, translucent object that shimmered faintly in the dim light.
“This,” Luke said, holding the object out for Maxs to inspect, “is called a Soul Ball. It helps visualize the flow of your Soulforce, makes it easier to understand what’s going on inside you. Since you’re having trouble controlling your Soulforce, this will give us a better idea of what we’re dealing with.”
Maxs took the Soul Ball cautiously, rolling it between his fingers. It felt unnaturally cool, almost like touching a piece of ice that never melted. “How does it work?”
“Simple,” Luke explained. “You focus your Soulforce into it. The ball will react and show us what your flow looks like.”
Maxs glanced over at Ryn, who gave him an encouraging nod. He took a deep breath and focused, letting the strange energy he had only recently awakened rise up within him. Slowly, he funneled his Soulforce into the sphere, feeling the warmth of it pulse through his arm and into the ball.
At first, the Soul Ball shimmered softly, but then, suddenly, it flared to life. The smooth glow that Maxs had expected was replaced by a chaotic, roiling flame within the sphere. It flickered wildly, twisting and turning in jagged bursts. The ball seemed to burn from the inside, as if it contained a firestorm, and yet the fire didn’t follow any natural pattern. It wasn’t calm or rhythmic—no smooth currents of energy flowed through it. Instead, it was a maelstrom of destructive force, barely contained within the ball.
Luke’s eyes narrowed as he watched the display. “That’s what I thought,” he muttered, taking the ball from Maxs and studying it for a moment before tossing it back. “Your Soulforce... it looks like wildfire.”
“Wildfire?” Maxs repeated, his brow furrowing in confusion.
Luke nodded, his expression serious. “A wildfire isn’t just destructive—it’s unpredictable. It can burn through anything in its path, but it also destroys its own fuel. It’s ruthless, consuming everything around it, and it doesn’t care who its wielder is. It has a mind of its own.”
Maxs felt a cold pit form in his stomach. “And that’s what my Soulforce is like?”
“Exactly,” Luke confirmed. “Your Soulforce isn’t just powerful; it’s wild. Chaotic. It doesn’t follow the normal patterns most people have. That’s why it’s so hard for you to control, and it’s also why your sword—your Claymore—reacts the way it does. The Claymore seems to have the same wild, untamed flow of Soulforce within it. When you try to control the sword and merge your Soulforce with its own, they clash. They repel each other.”
Maxs felt the weight of Luke’s words settle heavily on his shoulders. It explained what had happened during his training—why the Claymore had slipped from his grasp, why he had struggled so much to wield it properly. “So that’s what causes the Soulforce Repel?”
Luke nodded. “Exactly. Your Soulforce and the sword’s Soulforce are both like wildfire—unpredictable and fierce. When you try to force them together, they push back. That’s why your Claymore looks the way it does. That jet-black color could just be a manifestation of its uncontrolled state.”
Maxs stared down at the Claymore in his hand. The dark, ominous blade seemed to pulse with energy, as if it was barely contained within its own form. He had always thought the black color was part of the sword’s design, but now it seemed like something more—something darker, more dangerous.
“So, what do I do?” Maxs asked, his voice tinged with frustration. “How do I control it?”
Luke let out a long breath. “The first step is mastering your own Soulforce. If you can’t control the wildfire inside you, you’ll never be able to control the sword.”
Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.
He took the Soul Ball and held it up for Maxs to see. “You’re going to work on focusing your Soulforce. Make it steady, make it flow the way you want it to. Once you can do that, we’ll see if you can merge it with the sword’s energy.”
Maxs nodded, determination setting in his jaw. He took the Soul Ball back and closed his eyes, centering himself. He had to do this. If he couldn’t even control his own power, how could he hope to survive The Spectacle? How could he hope to win?
---
The days that followed were grueling. Maxs spent every waking moment training with the Soul Ball, sitting in Luke’s workshop as he tried to calm the chaotic flow of energy inside him. It was far from easy—every time he thought he had a handle on it, the wildfire would flare up again, breaking free of his control.
But with each failure, Maxs learned. He began to feel the ebb and flow of his own power, how it twisted and surged within him. Slowly, painstakingly, he forced it into submission, guiding it the way he wanted. It wasn’t perfect—there were still moments when the wildfire threatened to break loose—but it was progress.
By the end of the third day, Maxs held the Soul Ball in his hands, and for the first time, the chaotic flames inside it moved with purpose. They were still fiery and intense, but there was a flow now—a rhythm that had been missing before.
Luke watched him carefully, his arms crossed. “Not bad, kid. You’ve picked this up faster than I expected.”
Maxs exhaled, his face flushed with exhaustion but also pride. “So, what now?”
Luke nodded toward the Claymore, which rested nearby, propped against the wall. “Now, we see if you can control the sword.”
Maxs felt a surge of anxiety mixed with excitement. This was the moment he had been waiting for. He picked up the Claymore, its familiar weight settling in his hands. He closed his eyes, focusing once again on his Soulforce, guiding it toward the blade.
For a brief moment, he felt the same resistance as before—the Claymore’s own wild energy pushing back against his. But this time, Maxs didn’t let it overwhelm him. He concentrated, guiding his own wildfire-like Soulforce to flow in sync with the sword’s chaotic energy. It was like trying to tame a raging beast, but slowly, he felt the two forces begin to align, merging together.
The Claymore pulsed in his hands, and this time, it didn’t repel him. The black blade began to glow faintly, and Maxs felt a surge of power rush through him. It was working.
Luke’s eyes gleamed with approval. “Good. Now, let’s test it.”
Before Maxs could react, Luke lunged forward, grabbing a nearby training sword. He moved with surprising speed for a man of his age, his blade coming down toward Maxs in a swift, calculated strike.
Maxs instinctively raised the Claymore to block, the force of the impact sending a shockwave through his arms. But he held firm, his focus on maintaining control of the blade. Luke pressed the attack, swinging again, this time with more force.
Maxs gritted his teeth, blocking again and again, each clash of their weapons sending sparks flying. He could feel the strain of maintaining his control—every time he deflected a blow, the wild energy of the sword threatened to break free.
Then, in a moment of pure instinct, Maxs swung the Claymore wildly, aiming for an opening. He felt something click—the chaotic energy inside him and the sword synced perfectly for a brief instant, and the Claymore flared to life.
The jet-black sword suddenly shifted, its color morphing into a deep, glowing red, like a piece of coal burning in a fire. As Maxs’s blade cut through the air, a shockwave burst from the sword, the heat radiating from the swing so intense it made the air ripple.
Luke stumbled back, caught off guard by the sudden blast of power. The entire forge was filled with the searing warmth, and for a moment, everything stood still.
Maxs stared at the Claymore in awe. The once black blade now looked like it was burning from the inside, a dark red glow emanating from its core. The heat coming off of it was palpable, and the very air around it seemed to shimmer with energy.
Ryn stood frozen, her eyes wide. “What... what was that?”
Luke rubbed his chin, staring at the now smoldering sword. “That... was the first step,” he said slowly. “The sword’s color changing means it’s reacting to your control, but that swing...” He glanced at Maxs with newfound respect. “That was something else.”
Maxs lowered the Claymore, still feeling the warmth radiating from its surface. His hands were shaking—not from fear, but from the sheer effort of maintaining that brief moment of synchronization. But despite the exhaustion, a smile tugged at the corners of his mouth.
For the first time since he had come to Threa, Maxs felt like he was on the right path. The wildfire inside him was no longer just a curse. It was a power he could control, a power he could use.
Luke crossed his arms, a small smirk on his face. “Well, kid, looks like you might just survive The Spectacle after all.”
Maxs looked up, the burning Claymore still in his hands, and met Luke’s gaze. “Battle
on,” he muttered, more to himself than anyone else.